Domestic Spying

He's got a tattoo of a keyhole under his left eye;

spy us all down;

out flag us

until we give in -

please darling, show us what the Nazi's were really like

because

my

god

I

have

no

rights -

I'm just one of those citizens that your bitching at

(tell me more about my brochured rights -

give me a payment plan that will fit my debt filled budget and keep me safe when

the Gestapo knocks on my door.)

I hate to say it

but by writing this

I'm buying myself a one way ticket

onto the list of shame -

unpatriotic bitch

burn her to the ground like a modern day saint for her country

murder her and her Arab boyfriend

teach them what it's like to be American.

(And oh, at the end of the day

should you see something suspicious at the airport

by all means

dial

9

1

1

and tell us -

an open innovation for hate and discrimination

because

we're just American's

and we don't know any better.)

Am I not American enough for you?

Sorry

that my Wal-Mart $12.99 bra

doesn't push my tits up like the movie stars;

sorry that my cheap high heels

and makeup

don't fill enough for your

red

white

and

blue

canvass

(I'm so fucking sorry

darling, common

show me what the Nazi's were really like.)

Carnival-ize it to me;

kiss me on the roller coaster

with the idea of myself

as I never was

but rather how

you need me to be

to staple

and fit me into this perfect mold of yours.

He doesn't need a key whole to learn all of our dirty little secrets -

he already has his outlined approval -

he can type my name in,

last,

first,

and middle initial

and hunt me down electronically.

How do you run over the computer wires?

How am I supposed to keep silent?

Take over the persona of a mute American bitch with a flag in her window.

Support the troops who don't want to be there

rather then the ones who do!

Please darling, show us what the Nazi's were really like!

Show me

what it is to be who I really am -

murder my x- boyfriend (with the Iraqi style skin) because he looks

like hate underneath your cracked knuckles.

Parade us bad American's through the streets

so you can learn to identify the look in our eyes from a distance.

Give me a moment to confirm my pacifism;

my hatred of violence when it is generated toward the flesh

let me say though

that if someone bombed my city

I'd be pissed too

but that doesn't mean that I would readjust myself

to be

just like the thing I grow to hate,

the thing

that is not my own self -

lose ourselves,

bruise ourselves

put our American middle fingers in the direction of the worlds deserts

while we search out the black water

that makes our SUV's run faster

(we are a nation with speed in mind.)

Common darling, show us what the Nazi's were really like

level your keyhole eye

to mine

and look

at the America that you've wasted.

Sorry I'm not a American poet when I get mad

just myself.